Chapter 5:The Lead

         Elena's Point Of View

Sleep stayed out of reach. I had likely been sprawled across the edge of Mia's couch for hours waiting for sleep, my arm draped over my eyes, as my heart beat ominously loud and oppressively even against a rhythm I didn't believe in. The silence weighed heavy across the city, the kind of dead stillness that could hardly be called peaceful-heavy, rather, with something gazing back at it.

I was staring at the coffee table. That picture still gathered dust there. My face, my hair, the crumpled sheets.His bold script across the picture.

YOU REMEMBER MORE THAN YOU THINK.

My stomach clenched in pain. I hated the way he was so incredibly familiar with me, hated his memory of me there sleeping, and hated the small hidden part of me that considered the possibility that he had released me that morning intentionally, had observed me.

I couldn't afford this. I wasn't some badge-wearing patrolman attempting to cover for a bad decision—I was Captain Elena Monroe. For all the years I'd crawled through muck and lies, dragging one criminal after another out of the shadows, I'd earned my stars. There was no way I'd let one night, one man take that away from me.

Not after what happened in that hotel.

I was going to bring him down.

Must have dozed off at some point after four. Phone buzzed against my leg. I sat bolt upright, puzzled as the words of the message appeared on the screen.

Unknown Number:

"I have information about Castellano. We have to meet. In person."

I scowled at the screen, my heart racing. No signature. No name. But to the point—now.

I just sat there for a moment chewing the inside of my cheek.

Mia was fast asleep in her room. I could hear the gentle buzz of her fan, the faint squeak of her mattress. I should have woken her up. Warned her. Everything. But there was something about my gut that yelled no. Not yet.

If this was the case, I couldn't risk anything or anyone screwing it up. And if not, I had to know that as well.

I wrote quickly.

Me:

"Where?"

Within seconds was the reply.

Unknown Number:

"Westfield Market. Tissue aisle. 30 minutes."

I rushed to get dressed, swapping out Mia's massive sleep shirt with black jeans and boots, paired with a bland jacket. I cinched my badge around my neck and tucked beneath my shirt and tucked in my backup Glock in its holster. Just in case.

It was pale grey when I stepped outside, with clouds hanging heavy over the buildings. Long Beach was subdued, as if the sun had missed appearing to see what the day had in store.

The visit was short to Westfield Market and already loaded with moms steering grocery carts, kids whining about cereal, old folks quibbling about milk brands in front of wide refrigerators. I walked decisively, looking over every aisle as I passed.

And then I saw him.

Before me, from the other side of the tissue shelf, over a metal shelf covered in paper towels and napkins, his hood up, head down, dark glasses covering his face. But he was looking.

I stopped, my fist around the cart I'd gripped just to fit in.

"You're Monroe," he said, not looking directly at me.

"You've got a minute to tell me why I'm here," I said to him; my flat tone was punctuated by the roughness of the words.

He paused, then leaned in toward me slightly, his tone low and rough. "There's a shipment. Illegal. Coming in tonight to strike the city on one of Castellano's networks."

I narrowed my eyes. "What's the type of shipment?"

"Guns. Worth a fortune. Military grade. Enough to equip a war."

My heart skipped a beat. "Where?"

He glanced up little; not far enough for me to see his whole face, only enough to pick up the charge in him.

"There's a meeting at Suzanne's Bar. Around eleven this evening. Castellano's going to be there—speakinh about the movement and watching over the merchandise."

Suzanne's Bar again.

Of course.

I forced the thorn of unease the name brought and focused once more on the information.

"And how would you know this?"

The man shook his head. "Don't ask questions you don't want answers to. Trust me that if you hit him there tonight you'll finally have something real. Something to lock him down with."

He started to walk away, but I wasn't finished. "Wait—who are you?"

"A man who wants what you do," he muttered without glancing back. "To witness Castellano fall."

And then he disappeared down the next aisle and was gone.

I was rooted there for a moment while my mind scrambled. If what he was saying was true, this was the kind of lead we had been searching for months—years—now. Dom had evaded us so many times I had lost count, but now? Now he was going to enter my jurisdiction with proof, witnesses, the whole nine yards.

I exited the shop, stride hastening, heart thudding in elation.

In the station, I walked straight to the office of the Captain. Adrenaline bore me along, cleaning my head and cutting my mind.

Captain Reiner was sitting behind his desk, perusing some papers with his usual scowl face. He had looked up as I walked into the room.

"Elena," he stated, laying down the file. "You don't look as if you slept."

"Because I didn't," I responded, shutting the door behind me. "I got a tip, one I think has some solid foundation."

His eyebrows lifted. "Guess I'll go along with my previous thought—Castellano?"

I nodded. "This evening. Eleven. Suzanne's Bar."

He exhaled a sigh and slumped back into his chair. "And are you trusting in this source?"

No," I said. "But it all adds up. His dock shipment went quiet last week. He's unloading something big tonight, it seems. The man mentioned weapons. Military grade."

"And he said this in a supermarket?" Reiner asked, his disbelief coloring each word.

"Yes," I said without flinching. "He didn't want to be tracked. He wore his face. Spoke quick. He wasn't going to waste my time."

Reiner folded his arms. "You know what you're asking for, don't you? This operation. Warrant support. Surveillance. Deployment of the whole team-all in a hot zone, and all this on the word of a man you don't even know."

“I know what I’m asking,” I said, stepping closer. “And I know it’s a risk. But it’s Dominic Castellano. If I’m wrong, we pull back and regroup. But if I’m right… we take him down. For good.”

He stared at me for a long moment. Weighing.

Then he nodded once. “Gear up.”

My breath caught. “You’ll greenlight it?”

“We’ve been circling him for too damn long,” Reiner said. “If we have a shot, we take it. You lead it. But Monroe?”

“Yes, sir?”

“If this goes sideways—I’m holding you accountable.”

I nodded. “Understood.”

By the time I walked back into the bullpen, my team was already gathering. Michael. Mia. Jeremy. The rest of our unit. Each one alert, weapons prepped, vests pulled tight.

I looked around, adrenaline humming in my veins.

“Tonight,” I said to them, “we catch a ghost.”

And this time, I wasn’t running.